In the darkness,

Apricot blossoms rained all night.


Beyond this terrace of an old world,

A lighthouse circled in forensics of cut stars.


At the edge of scripted lives,

We wait without expectation overlooking city lights –

Knowing our minor revelations would come again,

And seem new.


In the darkness before waking,

I recalled votives at Abbazia di Santi Severo e Maririo

Holding empty years of tired fire,

Like a rain of apricot blossoms –

Like empty expectation of city lights,

Burning for scripted lives

With no medics on the way.